My morning visits to the cafe and Ross have multiplied to include post-work visits too. In a non-stalkerish way, I’m now aware he doesn’t work Tuesdays or Monday evenings. I still visit the cafe on those days, in case my growing interest in Ross becomes apparent to the rest of the staff if I miss those days.
Hiding behind my laptop as usual, I pretend I’m working; but instead, research my own articles, ready for the day I crazily believe I’ll be allowed to publish one in Belle de Jour. The chair opposite me scrapes and somebody sits. I look up and straight into a pair of beautiful, brown eyes, with eyelashes I couldn’t achieve without ten layers of mascara.
“Is it okay if I sit here?” Ross asks. He might have the chocolate eyes, but I’m the one melting here; I go from not being interested in men, to a desire for two in the space of a month.
“Sure.”
Ross sets his coffee cup on the table in front of him, slender fingers curled around. He wears the usual black work shirt with the cafe logo on and his dark hair contrasts his pale skin. I guess days in a coffee shop don’t allow for much time in the sun, or he could be a sensible skin cancer avoiding person.
But those eyes.
“Working?” he asks and sips his drink, ironically the smell of chocolate drifts to me.
“Yes.”
“What do you do? You must work near here because of the times you come in, and how you dress.” He indicates my blue silk blouse, indicating in the process, he’s the kind of man who can control the impulse to stare at women’s breasts.
“Belle de Jour. Trainee.”
“And woman of few words,” he says and flashes straight, white teeth to match his other perfection. Jesus, I’m obsessed. And confused. Wasn’t I considering cosying up with a surfer a few weeks ago? No, Guy’s left the picture. I demonstrate the conversational skills of a three year old by not responding with anything at all.
Bucket list.
Do it.
Ross sat here, didn’t he? That’s halfway.
“Did you want to meet up some time?” I blurt.
I cringe at the surprise in Ross’s otherwise cool expression. Crap, he’ll say no and I can’t even pretend I’m drunk.
“Well, you saved me asking,” he replies.
“Did I?” I shake my head. “God, I sound like an idiot.”
“You’re sweet.”
“Sweet?” I wrinkle my nose.
“Don’t forget, I see you come in here every day. I’m a people watcher, which is why I love my job. I can tell a lot about how people behave when they’re in here. You, Phe, are sweet to people. The time you paid for the guy’s coffee who was a dollar short. Helping mums with prams out of the door when I know you’re running late? And impossibly polite. Sweet.”
“Oh. Right.” The compliment doesn’t feel like one to me, but if he likes sweet girls, I’ll take it.
“Where were you planning to take me?” he asks.
“I hadn’t got that far.”
“Good thing I had. Are you busy after work tonight?”
“Yes. No. I mean, crap.”
The half-smile tipping his mouth at one corner suggests he’s used to girls blabbering around him. I’m not used to blabbering around men. “Yes or no?”
“Today’s Monday.”
“Sure is. Restaurant? Bar? Movies? All?”
“Um.” My mind cycles through the options. Movies, no chance to talk; what if he only likes car chases and gunfights. Pub, I’ll only get drunk. Restaurant, I’m fussy; what if he takes me to somewhere I don’t like?
“A meal?” I suggest.
“Restaurant it is then. Your choice.”
“Yes.”
“Which is?”
“Pardon?”
“Your choice.”
“Oh. Um.” Maybe the movies would have been the best choice because the chances of us having a conversation seem slim if this continues. “There’re a few nice places in Subi.”
“Okay, cool. Want me to pick you up?”
“I’m fine. I’ll text you with my choice later.”
Ross’s eyes shine. He pulls my receipt from the edge of the coffee cup and scrawls a phone number on. “Sounds good.” Then he stands and inclines his head to the door. “I’d best prepare for my date. Eight?”
I nod, hanging onto the word ‘date’ as I watch his tall figure leave the cafe, taking my breath with him.
As I finish my coffee, my mind wanders back to the few times I met Guy. Weird, we grew closer to each other; and even though I fought against the attraction I have to him, I didn’t think my rejection would end things between us so readily. Tangling with Guy made no sense, and now I’m doubly pleased I didn’t kiss him. Ross would be a much more suitable, normal date.
* * *
I dump the short dress onto the growing pile of clothes on my bed. Half a dozen changes and I’m no closer to choosing. White capri pants and fitted pink top. No. Three variations of summer dress. No. Bugger it. I pull on black skinny jeans and a loose fitting white top that scoops low against my neck. The tattoos catch my eye in the bathroom mirror as I put lipstick on. They still take me by surprise when I see the birds; but I love them, and I’m now considering my next tattoo.
Scouting around the lounge for my low-heeled boots, my phone beeps and my stomach lurches. What if Ross is cancelling? I grab the phone from the table.
Guy. After three weeks of ignoring me, he sends a text as if we only spoke yesterday?
I place the phone down and it beeps again
This time I switch off the phone and shove it in my bag. Guy contacted me; but after ignoring me for weeks, I’m not dropping everything for him.
I can’t switch my phone off. What if Ross calls? I click the on button and within a minute, the phone beeps again.
Right, sick for three weeks. On the verge of texting those words back, I pause. I bet he doesn’t mean flu.
I glance at the clock on the DVD player. 7.00pm.
Guy has never asked to see me. Not in such strong terms. How sick is he?
I chew my lip, torn over what to do. He helped me when I needed, and in a roundabout way is asking for my help too.
But I want to see Ross. He’s not my Prince Charming, but he’s the object of lustful fantasies; the man who could distract me from my pull toward a dying man I also fantasise about, but who I’m certain will break my heart.
I text.
Do I call Ross or text him? Am I blowing my only chance here?
One awkward conversation with Ross later, I head to the cafe where I often meet Guy.
Guy sits in his usual spot, and looks around as I approach. I pull up a chair and sit too. He’s pale, eyes less bright than usual, and wearing a smart shirt and jeans. His hair is different, buzz cut around the back and sides, shorter on top
“Image change?” I ask.
“My hair was annoying me. Thanks for coming.”
“That’s okay. Sounds like you need someone to talk to. You helped me when I needed it.” I move to take his hand, but stop myself.
“Ah, but I only spoke to you when you needed because you were on my list.” He smiles weakly.
“Way to make a girl feel special.”
He smirks, but doesn’t apologise.
“Why were you really there that night?” I ask in a low voice. “Was that true about the flowers?”
Guy rubs his lips together and watches me. “Omnia causa fiunt.”
“What does that mean?”
“Look it up.” He picks up his cup. “Tell me about your Prince Charming.”
I blink at his subject change. “I don’t have one.”
“So you weren’t going on a date?”
“I was, but it was the first.”
“Oh. Shit. Sorry I spoilt things for you.”
“It’s fine, we’ve re-arranged. Ticked an item off my list though, I asked him.”
I expect Guy to laugh in agreement; but instead, he focuses on the cup in his hands. “Good. I hope he’s a nice g
uy.”
“I came here to talk about you, not me.”
Guy drains his coffee. “Yeah. Let me buy these.”
This Guy’s manner is different to usual. He hovers back from the counter, letting others in front of him, hands in pockets. The confidence is missing. He avoids my eyes when he returns and sits and pushes the cup to me.
“You always drink the same, which is why I never asked,” he says.
“I wasn’t going to say anything. It’s fine.”
Guy takes his time opening a sachet of sugar and tipping the contents into his cup. Do I ask him? Wait for him to say?
“You said you’d been sick. Are you okay now?”
“Yeah. Had to go to hospital for a couple of weeks.”
“Oh. That’s not good. Are you...?”
He continues to focus on stirring his coffee. “I’m alright. A weekly check-up is all I need for now.”
I relax. “You still have time, don’t you? To do what you want.”
Guy looks up. “Yes. For now.”
I can’t go on with this friendship unless I understand what’s happening. If we have a friendship and Guy needs my support, he needs to let me know what’s wrong with him.
“Your illness. Is it something that will stop you physically first? I mean, do you only have a certain amount of time before you can’t walk or something?”
“That’s blunt.”
“I don’t know how else to ask. You won’t tell me what’s wrong with you.”
“You never asked again.”
“What’s wrong with you?”
“I’d rather not say.”
I place my hands under the table and he watches. “I don’t have something contagious, so don’t worry your pretty head about that. Whatever we decide to do together, I won’t give this to you. It’s all inside me and isn’t coming out.”
Cancer? Why does he keep avoiding my eyes? He behaves like any other normal person whenever I see him; and I understand this is something he may not want to talk about, but I’m fed up with trying to figure this out. How can this man with his infectious nature who embraces everything life has to offer him be dying? And why won’t he tell me?
We drink coffee in silence as dusk sets in. Groups chatter around us, meeting for coffees, and preparing for their own nights out. Several couples sit close together, touching and connecting.
The conversation about our almost kiss obviously isn’t happening. I wish I were more clued up on body language; he seems guarded, which makes sense. How bigheaded of me to think he hadn’t contacted me because I’d rejected him when the obvious answer was illness.
The way Guy held me when he danced, the feel of his arms around me sticks though, and the desire to have this again was behind my asking Ross on a date. If I could find another man who wants to hold me and kiss me, I don’t have to fight my feelings for Guy.
Feelings? Physical attraction that would lead to an emotional attachment I’m unsure I want. One that’s happening involuntarily. I now struggle to sit close to Guy without remembering his strength and warmth. I don’t hug people; touching anybody is rare and his embrace tapped a hole into the wall against the need for physical contact. Just as he drew me from the edge three months ago, he’s pulling me to a stronger bond with the world – a human one.
Bucket list. Partners. Subject change. “So, your list. Which did you come up with to do next?” I ask.
“I want to skydive.”
“I’ve no idea why you would, but okay.”
He straightens in his chair, eyes brightening. “Plus, I can take you surfing. We can take a weekend out.”
“A weekend where?”
“South. There’s a skydiving company down there, great views of the coast from the plane.”
“That you intend to jump out of even though the plane’s functioning perfectly.”
He makes a soft sound of amusement and watches me expectantly.
“Oh. Um.” A weekend. Us. “I might be busy.”
“You’re worried about going away with me?”
“No. Yes. I don’t know. After the other night...”
“I promise not to kiss you, even if it rains.” He smiles. “Invite your housemate, I know somebody who has a holiday place near Dunsborough. Practically beach front.” He pauses. “Lots of bedrooms.”
I rub my hands together under the table. Why do I have so many items on my bucket list that include water? “I’m not sure about the surfing just yet.”
“Come on, Phe. Best time of year. Plus, you’re still several items behind me.”
“Aren’t there a lot of sharks around that part of the coast?”
“Even better, two birds with one stone. You surf, I swim with sharks.” He grins.
I shake my head at him. The challenge to myself to overcome my fear of water could be about to take a step in the right direction.
“This weekend?” I ask.
“The sooner the better, time is of the essence and all that crap.” Guy picks at the edge of a napkin, the darkness flickering in his eyes again, before he looks up. “If you’re free.”
What the hell, why not? “Okay.”
We step back from the brink of the subjects we avoid and spend the next hour together. Over a meal, we chat – mostly about what I’ve been doing in the time apart, our meeting feeling more like a date by the minute. We easily slip back into the comfort of each other’s company until by the end of the evening, I’m aware how relaxed I am around Guy and how much I missed him.
Chapter Eleven
Six months in Perth and I’ve never ventured far from the city and suburbs; friends from work often go “Down South” to the Margaret River region at weekends. Focused on my everyday routine in an attempt to stay grounded, taking impromptu breaks away hasn’t been on my agenda.
Guy picks me up in a Jeep this time and I query how many cars he has. He tells me four, with a teasing grin, but I’m not entirely sure he’s joking. A worn surfboard is strapped to the roof rack, which I avoid looking at – or thinking about throwing myself to the mercy of the waves.
The drive takes less than three hours, the highway heading through the urban sprawl of Perth until the buildings thin to brown bush bordering the straight roads instead.
Guy looks tired again today, not unwell, but shadowed eyes as if he isn’t sleeping. He’s back to the quirky-humoured Guy I usually spend time with; but after our meeting the other day, I’m more aware that his smile hides secrets.
“Are you feeling okay at the moment?” I ask.
“I’m all good, Ophelia.”
“Don’t call me that,” I snap back. “Phe.”
“I think Ophelia’s a great name.”
“I don’t. Don’t use it.”
Guy purses his lips and keeps driving. “Why?”
“Because I don’t like her story.”
“Yours or hers?”
I look out of the window, at the world flying past the window, blurred and monotonous. “Both.”
“Were you ever called Ophelia?”
“Drop it.”
“Phe is a strange abbreviation, though.”
“Lia.” I swallow. “I was Lia.”
“And why aren’t you –”
“Shut up!” The idea of opening the car door and jumping out launches into my mind, as my brain’s illogical misfiring suggests I climb out of a moving car to escape a threat that doesn’t exist.
Guy glances from the road to me, unable to hide the surprise in his eyes. “I notice you’re working on the assertive thing. Good to see.”
“Like I said before, you don’t know me well. Certain things piss me off. Like this.” I don’t want tension to start our weekend. I intend to relax and have fun instead of the structured routine, which I apply to my life at weekends too.
“Under that carefully constructed exterior you’re a passionate girl then?”
I side glance him and his eyes are on the road, mouth quirked into a smile at one corner.
; “I guess we both have stories that are painful.”
Guy taps the steering wheel. “I won’t ask you yours, if you don’t ask me mine.”
“Okay.” But it’s not. Each time I move closer to Guy, I hit a barrier. Originally, I thought the barriers between us were all mine, but his become more visible each time. I run through what he’s told me about himself and I know little: he’s sick, he’s wealthy, likes the outdoors, and sometimes he paints. What about his family? He mentioned a half-sister but that’s all. Where are they? Why is he living alone?
A weekend with Guy and I’m going to find some answers.
The sound of his eclectic mix of tracks on the car stereo travels with us for the next hour, conversation ceasing. I’m not the only one holding someone at arm’s length. Is Guy’s confusion over what we are or could become as great as mine?
Guy’s friends’ house is set back from the beach, on a gentle hill, overlooking the Indian Ocean. The modern building is at odds with the nature around, the angular lines giving the building the feel of an office block. The property has been designed to maximise the views with a large balcony wrapped around the upper floor. Several similar houses surround, with older shack-like properties nestling between. The price of beachfront land around here doesn’t tempt everybody to sell.
The beach across the narrow road fills the house too – via colourful blue and yellow furnishings and coastal pictures on the white walls. Art made from shells and driftwood and signs painted “to the beach” adorn the wicker furniture creating a classic holiday-by-the sea ambience. I walk to the floor to ceiling window at the front of the house and look down at the clear, flat ocean. The early afternoon sun enhances the the picture postcard blue of the water.
“This place is amazing,” I say. “So quiet and beautiful.”
“This is a great place to come for an escape.”
The tension from the journey ebbs; holding onto stress would be impossible in an environment like this.
“What time are your friends arriving?” Guy asks as he joins me.
The Same Deep Water Page 7